He threw away the true heiress

Chapter 2

The next morning, the doorbell rang at eight o'clock sharp.

I was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and dark slacks, sipping a cup of lukewarm ginger tea to settle my stomach. The blue divorce folder sat open beside my mug. I had read every line of the document before dawn. It was thorough, brutal, and designed to strip me of any right to Garry’s world forever.

When the bell chimed a second time, I slid off the stool and walked to the foyer, assuming Garry had sent a courier to collect the paperwork early.

I opened the door.

A tall woman with glossy blonde hair and oversized designer sunglasses stood on the threshold. She wore a tailored cream wool coat over a silk dress, and the sharp scent of jasmine and crushed pink pepper filled the entryway. Behind her stood a smaller man carrying a thick ring of fabric swatches and a digital tablet.

Lydia Vane pulled off her sunglasses and looked at me from head to toe, her lips curling into a polite, hollow smile that did not reach her ice blue eyes.

"You must be Carleen," Lydia said. Her voice was musical, polished by years of finishing schools and wealth. She did not wait for me to invite her inside. She simply stepped past me into the foyer, her Italian leather heels clicking sharply against the marble. "I am Lydia. But I suppose Garry already told you that."

"He mentioned you last night," I said, keeping my tone neutral as I closed the door. "He did not mention that you would be arriving before breakfast."

"Well, time is money, darling," Lydia said lightly. She walked into the formal living room, gesturing to the drapes and the dark velvet armchairs with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Casey, look at this lighting. It is depressing. We will need to rip out the dark wood paneling before the engagement party next month. I want everything open, bright, and modern."

The designer, Casey, nodded rapidly and began snapping photos of the living room with his tablet.

A hot spark of anger flared in my chest, but I refused to let it show on my face. "The divorce is not finalized yet, Ms. Vane. You are standing in my home."

Lydia stopped pacing and turned to face me. She tilted her head, studying me with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Your home?" she repeated softly. She walked back toward the kitchen island, her eyes landing on the open blue legal folder. She traced a manicured finger across the brass label. "Carleen, let us be honest with each other. This was never your home. It was a holding pen."

"Is that what Garry told you?"

"Garry tells me everything," Lydia smiled, leaning against the marble counter. "We grew up together. Our fathers built their first skyscrapers on the same block. When old Mr. Sterling lost his mind and demanded a quick wedding before he died, Garry called me from the hospital lobby. He asked me to give him twenty four months to clean up the estate before we announced our real partnership."

The words landed like physical blows, but I kept my breathing steady. "So you knew."

"Of course I knew," Lydia said, picking up my mug of ginger tea, sniffing it with a slight grimace, and setting it back down. "You were a charitable tax write off, Carleen. A quiet little nobody who wouldn't make a scene in the press while Garry consolidated his board seats. But now the timer has run out. You got your debts paid, you got to wear nice clothes for two years, and now it is time for you to go back to wherever it is you came from."

My phone buzzed silently in my slacks pocket. I reached down and touched the screen through the fabric.

Another message had arrived from William.

"Carleen, do not let anyone intimidate you into leaving without your personal documents. I am currently reviewing a hospital file from the year you were born. There is a reason your mother's records were buried. I will contact you again once I verify the names."

I looked at Lydia. She looked confident in her designer coat, convinced that she was looking at a helpless victim who would crawl out the back door in tears.

"I am leaving today," I told her calmly. "You don't need to supervise my packing."

"Oh, I am not here to supervise your packing," Lydia said brightly. "I am here to make sure you don't take anything that belongs to the Sterling estate."

Before I could stop her, she walked down the short hallway toward the master bedroom suite and pushed the door open.

"This is my private room," I said, following her inside. "Get out."

"Nothing in this apartment is private anymore," Lydia retorted. She walked straight to my bedside table, where my small canvas purse and a few personal papers were sitting beside a brass lamp.

She reached out and picked up a folded white envelope that had been sitting under my purse.

My heart stopped in my chest.

It was the receipt from the private medical clinic where I had taken my initial blood test three days ago. The word OBSTETRICS was printed in bold blue ink across the top corner of the paper.

"What is this?" Lydia asked, her eyes narrowing as her thumb caught the edge of the fold. "Are you charging medical bills to Garry’s private account?"

"Put that down," I said, my voice dropping an octave.

"Let me see what you are trying to hide," she sneered, pulling the paper upward.

I did not scream. I did not cry for help.

I moved across the carpeted floor with three rapid steps, caught Lydia by her right wrist, and applied a sharp, precise downward twist that I had learned in a self defense course during my college years.

Lydia gasped as her fingers involuntarily opened, dropping the medical envelope onto the bedspread.

I scooped the envelope up with my left hand and shoved it deep into my pocket, never releasing my grip on her wrist until I had forced her three steps backward, away from my bedside table.

"Do not ever touch my things again," I said, my voice cold and sharp as winter ice.

"You bit me!" Lydia shrieked, clutching her wrist as soon as I let her go. Her face turned crimson with shock and fury. "You violent little beggar! I will have Garry throw you out into the street without a single cent!"

"What is going on in here?"

The deep voice echoed from the bedroom doorway.

Garry stood in the hall, dressed in his dark business suit, his eyes dark with sudden anger as he looked at the scene in front of him.